


Mimosas and Stilettos

by pensversusswords



Series: Mimosas and Stilettos [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, But honestly this story isn't about sex!!!, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Photographer Viktor Nikiforov, Service Submission, Service Top, Sex in later chapters, Slow Burn, Smitten Viktor Nikiforov, Sub Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9649523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: [Previously titledDissonant Dreaming.]In the midst of all the glitter and spandex, two people find each other; the stripper who is more than he appears, and the man who cares enough to pay attention to whatmoremight be.Through knowing Yuuri, Viktor learns who he could be. Through loving Yuuri, he learns how to be that person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **CURRENTLY BEING EDITED!** My interpretations of the characters has changed drastically since I first began writing this fic (almost a year ago, phew I'm the slowest) so I'm making some major edits to reflect that. 
> 
> This fic has art! Kinda spoilery so links are right here OR in the notes of the respective chapters! 
> 
> 1\. http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/post/161148904306/i-tried-drawing-yuuri-from-the-third-chapter-of  
> 2\. https://twitter.com/krystalhoshi/status/870104321773281280
> 
> Please give the artists some love! :)

Of all the places in the entire world Viktor could choose be at this moment, a strip club is pretty low on the list. There are obviously worse places he could be—a crowded plane with a crying baby springs to mind, or maybe waiting in line at the bank—but this was certainly not his favourite option, which he was very openly reminding Chris every two seconds.

“Chris,” he says petulantly. “There has to be somewhere else you’d rather go.”

Chris smirks, completely unapologetic. Viktor kind of wants to throttle him. “Absolutely nowhere. Stop complaining, you told me I could choose where we go to celebrate your promotion.”

“Does it really count as celebrating my promotion if I’m being dragged somewhere I don’t want to go?”

“Yes.”

“Makkachin is at home all alone.”

“Your dog will be fine for a few hours while you watch half naked men dancing on poles.”

“You mean every Saturday night that you drink your own weight in vodka?”

Chris rolls his eyes at that and snorts. “Please, don’t be so dramatic. You would be lucky to see my routine that often.”

Viktor is opening his mouth to respond—rather huffily, to be sure—when they reach the front of the line and a burly security guard is glaring down at them with a surly expression. He interrupts Viktor’s griping by sticking his hand out for their IDs, which Viktor hands over grudgingly. He’s glad that he still looks young enough to need to be carded but hell, as they’re being ushered inside and the security guard tiredly goes through his spiel—strippers wearing silver bracelets allow touching but don’t lay a hand on them until they tell you their limits, no cameras, not even for selfies—he can’t help but bemoan the fact that he has absolutely no desire to be there.

It’s not that he has a problem with strip clubs, he really doesn’t. He knows that the strippers deserve the utmost respect; he admires them for mastering their difficult craft and pities them for having to put up with the inevitably large number of absolute creeps that frequent their place of employment. He doesn’t have any qualms with people who work in the industry. He sees nothing wrong with people indulging themselves and exploring their sexuality.

But Viktor Nikiforov, no matter how well he knows how to charm and flirt, is a romantic at heart. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not one to seek out casual sex, or feel the need to ogle half naked attractive men while they peel their clothes off to loud music, only to reveal sweat-slicked and glitter coated skin beneath their skimpy outfits. It’s not like he doesn’t like to look at it, he just thinks that it’s overrated.

Yet, this is where he finds himself, sitting next to his best friend in a club called Grand Prixxx. Chris is already on his second drink and is clapping loudly for an act that involved a shiny, bright red g-string and a Cyndi Lauper song plucked fresh out of the 80s. Viktor is on his third drink and is barely starting to feel it yet, a problem he plans to rectify as soon as possible.

When his and Chris’s company had decided to spread internationally, Viktor was the top choice to go along and head up the new office. Up until that point, he’d been working there in St. Petersburg as a translator for the plethora of American clients that came to them looking for skating equipment. He’s charming, and adequately competent, Yakov had told him begrudgingly, with a grunt and a very brief pat on the shoulder. For Yakov, that was the highest of all compliments, something that Viktor had only been on the receiving end of a few times in all the years that he’s worked with him. He wasn’t exactly generous with his praise, so Viktor had known it was a big deal when Yakov had said that to him. Even so, he hadn’t been keen on the idea. He liked St. Petersburg. He liked his apartment, the little park down the street where he took Makkachin whenever he could, the little bakery and cafe around the corner that made the best pirozhki. St. Petersburg was home. That’s where he belonged.

But Yakov was insistent, Chris was doubly insistent, and eventually Viktor had given in. It was a good opportunity, a stepping stone for even bigger, better things, he was told. He supposed that was supposed to be good enough incentive. So, he’d packed up his belongings, made the arrangements to rent out his apartment while he was gone. He and Makkachin had said goodbye to St. Petersburg and made their way to their new home across the world.

Chris was ecstatic to have Viktor in the city, and had wanted to celebrate pretty much the instant his plane touched down. Viktor had managed to stave him off for three days, claiming jetlag and trying to familiarize himself with his new apartment. He loved Chris, he really did, but he knew what Chris’s idea of a celebratory night out was like, and he wasn’t exactly keen on what Chris would have in mind.

He could only avoid the inevitable for so long though, and so, here he is. At a strip club. The only place in the world where he could actually say that there was too much glitter.

“Want another drink?” Viktor is saying—yelling, to be more accurate—into Chris’s ear. “I’m going up to the bar.”

Distractedly, Chris nods. He’s far too busy waving bills at a scantily clad cowboy at the moment to pay too much attention to Viktor.

The bar is mercifully not busy, and he orders a Screwdriver for himself and an extra dry Martini for Chris. He flashes the bartender a smile and compliments his bowtie while he makes the drinks.

A loud, thumping beat begins playing over the speakers. On second thought, Viktor orders a shot of vodka, takes it all down in one fluid movement, relishing the burn as it goes down his throat. It’s watered down to be sure, but it’s still like a shot of fire into his veins, sparking heat in his chest that spreads warmly outwards.

He smiles at the bartender again, leaves him a good tip, and turns back to where Chris is sitting, the drinks balanced precariously in his hands as he makes his way over. Chris accepts the drink with a nod of gratitude and raises it to clink it against Viktor’s glass.

“You’re supposed to be having fun,” Christ says as Viktor sits down. “You’re not having fun.”

Viktor fights the urge to smack his head. “I’m having as much fun as I said I would,” he laughs, instead. “What did you expect?”

Chris is about to answer, but then the music shifts from the ambient thud of in-between-between-act music, to a song with more purpose, signaling the commencement of a new act, and Chris’s attention is very instantaneously otherwise occupied. He lets out a cheer along with half of the other patrons, bringing his hands together in applause as the lights shift and drench the stage in front of them in a low, sultry blue. Viktor huffs, recognizing that he’s completely lost Chris’s attention, and turns to the front just as the next performer steps onto the stage.

There have been only two moments in Viktor’s life when he’s felt like the entire world has stopped around him. The first was that one time Makkachin had missed the wheels of a speeding car by just a hair. Viktor hadn’t been paying attention, looked the other way for a fraction of a second, lost his grip on the leash just as Makkachin caught sight of something in the other direction and lunged. The leash had slipped through his gloved hands and when he’d turned, Makkachin’s name frantic on his lips, he’d seen the car a few meters away. He’d seen that the driver didn’t see the oblivious puppy that was dashing in to his path. For a split second before his reflexes caught up with what was happening right in front of him, it felt as though time had frozen around him, like his heart had stopped along with it, his lungs momentarily forgetting how to draw breath. The moment had passed and he’d darted after his dog, overcome with a wave of gratefulness when Makkachin had managed to dart out of the way with a frantic squawk, the driver of the car completely unaware that he nearly destroyed Viktor’s entire universe. Viktor had taken Makkachin home right away, cuddled him on the couch long after the dog had grown impatient with his clinging.

Second, there was this time. Right now, right here in this moment, as the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his entire life walks out onto the stage like the entire world belongs to him. The music thumps around him as he looks out at the crowd with this look on this face, like he knows that everyone has suddenly unconsciously leaned forward in their seats and that they can’t keep their eyes off of him. He steps into the spotlight that’s been trained on the stage—his feet come into view wearing platform heels that enhance the firmness of his calves; legs, slender and sturdy; his waist, hip bones peeking out over the waist of his tiny shorts; his stomach, the toned lines of his abs under his crop top, the soft tan of his skin. His face, though. If it weren’t for the loud, thudding music, Chris would’ve easily heard the strangled noise that gets caught in his throat when the man’s face comes into view. Viktor is instantly grateful that Chris insisted on getting a table right at the front—“who calls ahead and reserves a front row seat at a strip club, Chris, for goodness sake”, he’d said then, but now he wants to eat his words—because it means that he’s close enough to see the soft brown of his eyes when he sweeps them over the crowd and his gaze meets with Viktor’s. This close, a meter away from the pole he’s leaning on and swaying his hips against, Viktor is close enough that he could leap from his chair, lean over the stage and reach out with his arm outstretched and brush his fingers over the curve of the man’s ankle.

Viktor has never once in his life been overcome with the urge to caress another man’s ankle, and yet, for a moment there’s nothing in the entire world he would rather do.

His hands itch for his camera. Why doesn’t he have his camera? Right, no photos allowed in this place, Viktor remembers. This man would be so breathtakingly beautiful framed by the light show that surely requires a warning for epileptics. Viktor hasn’t wanted to photograph anyone this badly in so long. 

“I want to talk to him.”

Chris doesn’t hear him. Viktor reaches out and grips his arm, fingers digging into his skin like talons.

“Ouch, what is it?”

Viktor doesn’t take his eyes off of the man—he’s spinning slowly around the pole right now, gripping it tight between his thighs, head tipped back and eyes closed, hovering so effortlessly in the air that it almost seems like the music thick around him is holding him up—and digs his fingers harder into Chris’s arm.

“Chris, I need to talk to him,” he says, his voice caught between frantic breathlessness and reverent awe. “How can I talk to him?”

“Hmm, I thought you didn’t like strip clubs?” Viktor can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“I don’t, but I like him.”

Chris laughs. His body shakes with mirth beneath Viktor’s hand. “He is gorgeous, isn’t he? And he certainly knows how to move.”

“Chris,” Viktor whines, shaking Chris’s arm a little bit. “He’s the most beautiful man in the entire world, I have to talk to him!”

“All right, first you have to stop trying to tear my arm off.”

Viktor doesn’t comply. He imagines that Chris sighs before speaking again, but if he does, it’s lost in the swell of the music. “You can’t just talk to him. You can get a lap dance from him, if you want. This is a strip club, Nikiforov, not a house party.”

“Okay. That. I want to do that. How do I get a lap dance from him?” Viktor’s heart thuds at the idea of the man hovering over him, being face to face with them, being able to see those eyes up close.

Chris shakes his arm loose from Viktor’s death grip and Viktor manages to tear his eyes away for a moment as Chris waves a waiter over, who obligingly leans down so he can speak in his his ear. The waiter nods, answers Chris’s flirtatious smile with one of his own when Chris slips him what Viktor can see is a very generous wad of cash.

“What did he say?” Viktor says, barely a moment after the waiter turns away.

“Viktor, you were watching, you know he didn’t say anything.” Chris rolls his eyes and nudges Viktor with his elbow. “He nodded and smiled, which means that yes, perhaps at some point this night, you might get a lap dance from the man of your dreams up there.”

“Have I mentioned that I love you?”

Chris laughs, tosses back the last couple mouthfuls of his drink. “Not nearly enough.”

***

“You asked for me?”

Viktor startles a bit, his head whipping around at the low, sultry voice in his ear and. His heartbeat quickens in anticipation and, sure enough, there he is. The man from the stage is standing right next to him. Looking at down at him with a kind of expression that Viktor thinks could probably kill in the right context. He’s leaning over so that they’re nearly face to face, close enough that Viktor can see a little mole on his right cheek, and the way that his eyeliner has become smudged after a night of dancing. 

Viktor feels like his whole body is on fire as he stares up into two warm brown eyes that glow ochre in the club’s sporadic lighting. Up close, he’s even more beautiful than he was on stage; the strong, sturdy lines of his thighs are even more muscled and pronounced than he could’ve imagined, his skin looks even softer. His eyelashes are thick and dark around his deep, deep brown eyes.

Any hope he’d had of remaining cool and collected during this interaction flew out the window the instant he found himself trapped in this beautiful creature’s gaze.

“Hi!” Viktor says, probably a little bit too loudly, because the guy looks a startled for a moment at the sudden explosion of his greeting. Viktor clears his throat.  _ Get it together,  _ he tells himself. He knows how to flirt with beautiful men.  _ Focus _ . “I'm so pleased to meet the most beautiful man in the room,” he says. Better. He leans back in his chair leisurely, letting his mouth curl in his most charming smile. 

The past forty-five minutes have been the longest in his entire life. He’s been deliberating this since Chris had sent him off to a quieter section of the club, because apparently he’d bought him a private lap dance (“consider it a welcome gift” Chris had said with a wink when Viktor tried to pay him back the absurd amount money he’d paid the waiter), and he’s come to the conclusion that yes, time is indeed moving slower than it ever has in the entirety of his existence.

Worth it, Viktor thinks as he grins up at this beautiful boy, knowing he must look absolutely starry eyed. Completely worth it.

“Yes,” the guy says slowly. His gaze sharpens. “Your friend sent for me.” 

“Chris,” Viktor informs him. He feels like he’s floating. “That’s my friend Chris. He, ah. Knows this place better than I do.”

The guy’s eyes narrow a little bit, and his head tilts slightly to one side. “I’m not a man who likes to be sent for,” he says, his voice slow and deliberate.

Viktor blinks in surprise. “I--”

“Next time,” the man says, with not an ounce of uncertainty in his voice, “come find me yourself.”

Their gazes are locked, Viktor feeling like his heart has moved into his throat and has made its home there, the throb of each beat stopping his voice from coming out. He feels the man’s words strike him in the chest like a silver arrow. He doesn’t know why he feels like there is fire dancing across his skin, but suddenly he feels so hot. 

Viktor clears his throat softly. It’s suddenly  _ so _ dry. “Of course,” he says carefully. “I hope I did not offend.”

His apology is met only with a smirk that he feels all the way down to his toes. 

The guy raises his hand and points to the familiar silver bracelet he’s wearing on one wrist. “I’m okay with touching during lap dances, but keep ass grabbing over my clothes, keep your hands off my dick and my armpits. Security will throw you out and ban you for life if you do, and if you go for my pits you will probably get whacked because I’m really ticklish.”

Viktor is nodding the entire time the guy is talking, completely compliant with everything he’s saying. Honestly, Viktor can’t help but think that he’d be okay with just staring at the guy for the next couple of hours, no touching necessary. He’d love to touch, but that’s not why he’s interested.

Of course, he’s in a strip club, so he feels the energy all around him that has everyone leering and wanting to reach out and touch bare skin, desire running electric through the air as everyone yearns for what is right in front of them but can’t have. Viktor feels as though he should feel the same way, but he just doesn’t like strip clubs, and more than anything he’s looking at this man in front of him and feels entranced; this beautiful man with his deep, deep brown eyes that are made all the more intense with a subtle smudge of black eyeliner, his tousled dark hair that brushes over his ears and hangs over his forehead in a way that manages to be endearing and sexy all at the same time. Viktor feels like he should be overcome with lust and desire, and certainly he does feel desire, but he finds that really all he wants to do is to reach out and gently touch his cheek, or maybe his collarbone, which is peaking out from underneath his crop top, delicate and angular. His skin looks unbearably soft and inviting under the flecks of glitter that are set aglow by the club’s sporadic and shifting multicolored light. Idly, Viktor wonders what this man looks like when he’s smiling, and he briefly thinks of throwing him an awful, cheesy line to see if he can make those pinkish, full lips open with laughter.

He doesn’t do any of those things. “I promise,” Viktor says, giving him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Hands inside the ride at all times.”

It might be a trick of the lighting, or maybe he’s seeing what he wants to see, but he thinks that he might see the corner of the guy’s mouth twitch, as if the beginning of a smile is attempting to break free and has to be contained. The moment passes quickly, but Viktor still considers it a success.

He nods, thankfully seeming to be satisfied with Viktor’s answer.

His dance begins with one of his hands braced on the back of Viktor’s chair, his movements confident and sure, one leg swinging over Viktor’s lap to start grinding in mid air. Viktor swallows thickly and curses inwardly.

Viktor had asked for the lap dance specifically so he could talk to the guy, but the song starts to slip by them with the guy swaying his hips in front of Viktor, and Viktor finds himself just watching in awe as he dances. A small part of it has to do with the fact that, well, the guy is a phenomenal dancer, and he almost feels like he shouldn’t interrupt the magic happening in front of him. Every movement is fluid and languid, like his body was made to dance like this, like he is an extension of the music himself, a human embodiment of rhythm and melody. Viktor likes watching his expressions, too; sometimes he’ll tip his head back with his eyes closed and a blissed out expression, like he is a willing vessel for the music, and sometimes Viktor will catch the almost imperceptible movements of his mouth as he unconsciously mouths the words to the song playing.

As much as he’s enjoying the view, he had wanted the dance so that they could  _ talk _ . The problem was that he hadn’t exactly thought about what he was going to say in advance, had simply impulsively insisted that he get his one on one attention as quickly as humanly possible. Viktor thinks that they are now around a third of the way through the song, and at this point, all he’s done is—to put it bluntly—gazed up at the guy in absolute awe.

Being at a loss for words is not a problem that Viktor normally has, and yet here he is, sitting in a dark strip club with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen inches away from his lap and swaying his hips to a thudding beat that he can feel reverberating in his bones… and he can’t think of a single thing to say. But he has to say something.

The only thing that his brain supplies is: “That move you do with your leg is spectacular.”

The guy blinks at him. “What?”

Viktor gestures vaguely. “That thing where you put your leg over your head. While you were on the pole. You’re very talented! And you looked so beautiful on stage… I could’ve watched you dance all night.”

Even in the dim lighting, Viktor is delighted to see that his comment has prompted a faint blush to creep across the guy’s cheekbones as he ducks his head and looks away. It makes Viktor’s heart flutter at little bit, because it is absolutely unbelievable and endearing at the same time. This guy is wearing booty shorts so tiny that they barely cover his ass, for goodness sake, and a crop top that is made of so little fabric that Viktor has caught a peek of dusty pink nipples more than a few times. Not to mention the fact that he had just been all but grinding on Viktor’s lap just one song ago, and yet such a simple, fairly innocent compliment has made him blush.

Ah. So, perhaps his normal mode of flirtation isn’t what will work with this man. Noted. 

It’s the most wonderful thing that has ever happened in his presence, Viktor thinks. He feels like his heart is glowing in his chest. He wants to stay here and make this beautiful boy blush for the rest of the night.

Viktor is going to have to remember to apologize to Chris for complaining about coming out tonight, and thank him profusely for the next months. Maybe he’ll even get him flowers.

“Well. Thanks.” He looks away, his expression becoming more composed once again. “You’re… you’re allowed to touch me, you know,” he says, stumbling a bit with his brows creased in confusion, as if he’s struggling to find the right words but can’t quite figure out why. Or, maybe it’s just the music and the lights playing tricks on Viktor. It’s hard to tell. 

“Oh!” Viktor says when the words sink in. He hadn’t forgotten about that, of course, he’s been dying to feel if Yuuri’s skin is as soft and smooth as it looks. He hadn’t forgotten, but somehow it had faded to the back of his mind a bit, simmered there without urgency.

Tentatively, Viktor raises his hands to hover precariously over the expanse of the man’s back, hesitating for a moment before he finally decides to let one hand drop to the curve of his hip bone, while the other finds its place on the dip of the man’s spine at his lower back.

“You have very soft skin,” Viktor grins up at him, infinitely pleased that his estimation was spot on; his man’s skin was even softer than he’d imagined, smooth and warm beneath his fingertips.

“Um. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” Viktor beams, his fingers starting to make a slow stroking motion up and down his spine. It was like touching silk, Viktor thinks. “Can you tell me your name?”

“You can call me Eros. Or Katsu,” he says in a way that tells Viktor that neither of those are his real name.  He drops his arms so that his forearms rest on Viktor’s shoulder and once again, he starts to grind in mid air over Viktor’s lap.

As captivating as the roll of Katsu’s stomach is, his abs shifting and flexing under the softness of his tummy, Viktor lights up a bit at the mention of the guy’s name.

“Katsu? Like Katsudon?” he asks, half joking, remembering the dish he’d tried on his trip to Japan a few years back. 

Katsu pauses for a fraction of a moment, assessing Viktor carefully. “Yes,” he says finally. 

“Really?” Viktor asks, surprised. He’d only been half serious, after all.

Katsu starts moving his hips again. “Yes. My mom makes the best Katsudon in the world.”

“I have to say that I agree.” Viktor grins up Katsu and winks.

To Viktor’s absolute delight, this causes a rosy flush to bloom over Katsu’s cheeks. It might his imagination, or a trick of all the flashing lights around them, but Viktor is almost certain that Katsu draws in a sharp breath at that. Viktor’s chest swells; he is more than pleased with the reaction. Flushed and flustered is a good look on Katsu, he decides.

When Katsu doesn’t respond, Viktor decides to let him off the hook for now and continues with: “We should go get Katsudon together!”

Katsu’s eyes snap back to Viktor’s. “What?”

“We should go get Katsudon together. I’m new to the city, you should show me the best place to get it!”

“You can’t—“ Katsu flounders for a moment, blinking rapidly at Viktor. It’s the first time he’s seemed somewhat thrown off by Viktor. A part of him feels a rush of satisfaction at that. “You can’t just ask a stripper to go out with you.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, the satisfaction from a moment ago fading instantly.  _ Too pushy,  _ a voice in his head tells him. He doesn’t try to tamp it down. He knows the voice is right. “Why not?” he can’t help but ask.

“Because it’s just…” Katsu frowns. “You just can’t. It’s unprofessional.”

“Oh.” Viktor deflates a little bit more. “Got it.”

Katsu nods.

They fall silent for a few moments, until Viktor just can’t stand not talking any more and breaks the quiet.

“I’m Viktor, by the way.”

“You probably shouldn’t tell me your name.”

“So many rules!”

To Viktor’s delight, Katsu actually smiles at that; a small, amused smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle a tiny bit.

“You don’t come to strip clubs often, do you?”

Viktor shakes his head. “My friend made me come.” He jerks his head in the direction of Chris, who waves at them when Katsu looks over in his direction. Viktor waves back, grinning widely. To his surprise, Katsu gives him a little wave as well.

“I’m glad he made me come now, though,” Viktor says. “I take back all the complaining I did earlier.”

Katsu turns back to him, quirks a brow questioningly.

Viktor smiles. “Because I got to meet you!”

Katsu’s face sharpens with determination, like he’s trying to keep a reaction to that at bay. He’s a slave to his own body, though, and Viktor doesn’t miss the way his cheeks flush ever so slightly. Viktor figures it wouldn’t be appreciated if he were to lean in and squish his cheeks, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t imagine doing it.

Just then, the song changes again, and Katsu’s movements stutter to a halt.

“Oh. I have to go,” Katsu says, as though he’s surprised at the fact, like maybe time had slipped away from him as well.

“What?” Viktor’s hands shift to cup both of his hips, as if he held on tight enough he could keep Katsu from leaving. “Why? I’ll pay for another dance!”

Katsu shakes his head. “I have to get ready to go back on stage, then my shift is over.” He’s settled down onto Viktor’s lap, basically just sitting there, his forearms resting on Viktor’s shoulders. It’s wishful thinking, but Viktor imagines a reluctance in him, as though he doesn’t want to leave either.  “And I’m not supposed to do more than two dances with one patron at a time, anyways.”

“How many dances was that?”

The corner of Katsu’s mouth twitches. “Three.”

“You were keeping track and kept going?”

Katsu shrugs. “Your friend really paid well. You should thank him.”

Oh, Viktor will. He’s considering giving Chris an apology fruit basket. “Then it’s not because you were so fascinated by me and wanted to keep talking to me?”

Katsu levels him with a look. Viktor shrugs and grins at him unapologetically.

“That’s not a no,” Viktor points out gleefully. 

Even though he looks like he’s trying to hold it in, Katsu smiles a little bit and breathes out a tiny laugh, shaking his head as he slowly slides out of Viktor’s lap and starts getting to his feet.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says. “But I really do have to go.”

“What if I want to see you again?” Viktor asks, a little frantic as he realizes that Katsu really is about to leave, and he is nowhere near ready for that to happen. His hands are still on Katsu’s waist, who still hasn’t stepped out of reach and Viktor doesn’t want to let go just yet.

Katsu’s eyes are burning with intent as he lifts his arms from where they were resting on Viktor’s shoulders, and as—to Viktor’s absolute dismay—he withdraws. Viktor’s disappointment is short-lived, however, because Katsu surprises him one last time as he presses his fingers to the curve of Viktor’s jaw, just below his ear, and slowly runs his fingers over the curve of his jawline, softly brushes his fingers along the length of it, his fingertips lingering there for a long moment. “You know where to find me,” he murmurs.

Ah. There it is, the third moment in his life that the world has stopped around him. He catalogues this moment and stores it safely in his mind; the way the lights cast a glow around Katsu’s face, the way his eyes are the only gentle thing in the entire building, the way his fingers are velvety and almost tender against his face, the way his own heart melts completely in his chest as he lets this moment steal him away from the rest of the world.

Viktor doesn’t miss the way that Katsu’s eyes widen in surprise had crashed over him like a wave. He flushes a little as he jerks his hand away quickly.

Before Viktor van even say anything, Katsu is stepping away and turning on his heel, all but scurrying away from him. Unconsciously, Viktor reaches out to him, but it’s too late. He’s gone.

Again, Viktor finds himself dying to get his hands on a camera. He doesn’t want to forget the long expanse of legs, the subtle sway of hips, the way the light dances off of him. He watches, committing each movement to memory. He’ll want to remember this. 

When Katsu been swallowed into the throngs of scantily clad dancers, Viktor finds himself staring after him, his mind trying to catch up with the world around him. He stays where he is for a while, finishes his drink, before going back to where Chris is waiting. 

“You were gone a while,” Chris comments, with a teasing lilt in his voice.

Viktor collapses into his chair, lets out a long, dreamy sigh. “Chris, I just met the man of my dreams.”

Chris lets out a short laugh and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He pats Viktor’s shoulder and slides over his own drink. Viktor sips it gratefully, as his heart tries its hardest to slow to a reasonable pace, and his mind lingers on the memory of warm, deep brown eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, strip clubs generally don't have rules like this. I've been to a grand total of one, and I just kind of made shit up to suit the plot based on that one experience, but this is fic so I can do what I waaaaant.
> 
> Fairly certain that this is obvious, but yes, Katsu is Yuuri. You'll hear more from him next chapter, which will be his perspective!
> 
> I'm making a playlist for this AU as I write it since it's such a music based fic, and I'll post a link as soon as it's on the go, but just to keep everyone everyone in the loop:
> 
> -The song Yuuri dances to when Viktor first sees him onstage is "Fade" by Kanye West. Beware, the video is [fire emoji] but it's also nsfw. But yeah, here's a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxGvm6btP1A.  
> -Phichit is the one in the red g-string dancing to Cyndi Lauper.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Phichit says to Yuuri when he steps off the stage for the final time around two am, is: “so who was that handsome man you gave the extra dance to?”

Yuuri sighs. They’re in the back room now, other are dancers milling around in various stages of undress, talking and laughing amongst themselves in slow, sleepy voices. Phichit is still in his red thong ensemble from his big number, and there are flecks of glitter glinting off of his hair and chest, but Yuuri had yanked on sweatpants and kicked off his heels the instant he’d gotten off stage, yearning for the simple comfort of cozy clothing. He contemplates ignoring Phichit as he digs through his bag for his sweater, but this is Phichit of all people, who is currently staring at him with the biggest grin on his face.

“Just some customer,” Yuuri finally says, just as he finds his sweater. He pulls it on and shrugs awkwardly as he shoves his arms into the sleeves. “No one important.”

“Please,” Phichit scoffs, leaning in closer like they’re sharing secrets. “You never give extra dances, Yuuri.”

Yuuri shrugs again and focuses very hard on his search for the sock that matches the one he’s holding in one hand. “It was an accident. I didn’t even notice how long I was with him.”

“I was watching, you know,” Phichit says, very efficiently ignoring the eye roll he earns from Yuuri. “How do you know him? He’s gorgeous!” He draws out the ‘o’ in “gorg” about four syllables longer than it needs to be.

Yuuri frowns a little. “I really don’t know him Phichit,” he says, “I’ve never met him before.”

Brows drawn together suspiciously, Phichit eyes Yuuri. “Are you lying to me?”

Yuuri sighs. “No, when have I ever lied to you?”

“Well, that time you said ‘no Phichit, I’m fine, I’m not drunk’ and then threw up all over my shoes, for one.”

Yuuri winces. He can count on two hands all the times he’s gotten drunk, and that’s very deliberately on purpose. He’s been told he’s a completely uncontrollable drunk, and he never enjoys waking the next morning with a throbbing headache, only to have to figure out what he did the night before whilst blackout drunk.

With Phichit though, he never has to wonder. He always very enthusiastically informs Yuuri exactly what he got up to the night before.

“Right. Well, I’m not lying this time, Phichit, I promise. I don’t know him.”

Phichit’s eyes examine him for a few moments longer, as if he stares hard enough, Yuuri might reveal himself, but then widen a little bit and he bounces excitedly on his toes a few times. “He must’ve been charming if you didn’t know him before!”

“Phichit,” Yuuri admonishes with a small smile. “We’re strippers, half the people who come in here think they’re charming.”

Grinning still, Phichit places his hands on either side of Yuuri’s face and leans in close.

“Aw, come on, Phichit,” Yuuri groans, “you’re going to get glitter on me, that stuff is so hard to get off.” There’s a reason he doesn’t use it as much as the other guys. Every single time he’s given in, he’d had a not-so-subtle shimmery coat over his skin for over a week. Phichit doesn’t mind, but it does irritate Yuuri enough for him to want to avoid it.

Phichit completely ignores this and continues to squish his cheeks. “They think they’re charming, but they aren’t. None of them have ever made you blush before.”

Against his will, Yuuri feels his cheeks heating a little bit. “I wasn’t blushing!”

“Well you are now!” Phichit giggles, pats one of his cheeks and releases him.

Yuuri doesn’t bother answering, just rubs at his cheek, a likely futile effort and won’t get rid of any of the glitter at all.

Sighing, he drops down onto the nearest chair. “Do you think he noticed?” His foot twitches with nervous energy without his permission.

Phichit scoffs and turns to the nearest mirror to start peeling his false lashes off. “Please,” he says, “I’m sure he didn’t. You’re impenetrable when you’re in the zone, Yuuri. Only someone who pays attention would get under your skin _and_ notice that you’re actually the consistency of a marshmallow off stage.”

Yuuri shifts on the chair, fixing his attention on a fraying edge on his shorts. He plucks at the strands of blue fabric, and tries not to think about inquisitive blue eyes watching him, and the way his heart had stammered in his chest, trying to find its proper rhythm again.

Yuuri’s a professional. He doesn’t get flustered by customer compliments. He doesn’t let them see any vulnerabilities from him.

Most of them don’t compliment his skill or anything besides his ass, though. He’d just been surprised. That’s all.

“You’re cute,” Phichit announces, tossing the . He reaches for his own bag, takes out a pair of yoga pants, and finally starts to put them on. Yuuri doesn’t understand how he doesn’t get cold just wandering around backstage in a tiny thong. “And I know you’re a professional, but be careful, okay? I know he’s handsome and charming, but if he comes back, don’t let him make you forget to be cautious.”

“You were just teasing me about him!”

“Yes, because you’re my best friend and I love you. It’s my job to protect you from pretty men who could break your heart,” Phichit says matter-of-factly. He bends over to look in his bag again, presumably for a shirt. There’s glittery writing across his ass that reads ‘THICC’.

Yuuri snorts.“You’re so dramatic, Phichit. I spoke to him for a few minutes, I don’t know what you think you’re protecting me from.. Also, where on earth did you get those pants?”

Phichit grins over his shoulder and wiggles his butt a little bit. “Internet! Aren’t they awesome? And I know you’re not, I’m just telling you to be careful, all right? I saw how he looked at you and he was definitely enamored with you. People like that come back. He might have good intentions, but he might not, so just be careful if he comes around looking for you. Okay?”

Yuuri sighs, jams his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and shrugs. “I will, Phichit.” Whatever makes his best friend happy. _He won’t come back,_ he doesn’t bother saying. It’s not worth saying out loud.

“Good!” Phichit finds his shirt, pulls it on, and sits down on a nearby bench so he can kick off his stiletto heels. “Now, we’re going to get food on the way home, I’m starving.”

***

Over the next couple days, Yuuri finds himself replaying the encounter with Viktor over and over in his mind. He tells himself it’s because it was a strange encounter, and not because he found Viktor interesting in the slightest. Definitely not.

Yuuri hadn’t expected the man to know what his name meant—most people didn’t here in Detroit and he could get away with taking his name from something as silly as his mother’s famous pork cutlet bowls. Viktor hadn’t seemed to be too thrown off though, didn’t make fun, just beamed up at Yuuri with those clear blue eyes like pools of ice glittering under midday sun, and had proclaimed that he loved Katsudon like he was talking about some sort of secret treasure, not a tasty dish Yuuri loved from back home. Yuuri had been surprised, both at the fact that he knew of the dish in the first place, and second, at the fact that his immediate reaction was to ask if Yuuri wanted to get some with him. It wasn’t as though Yuuri hadn’t been accosted and propositioned during lap dances before, but most times it was rich, balding men who gripped his ass a little tightly, fingers dipping a little bit too close to his crotch as they tried to subtly propose sneaking off around a corner after his shift for a bit of heavy petting. Some of these propositions involved going back to their hotel rooms, others were accompanied by a few extra bills tucked into his shorts, right between his crotch and his thigh, a wink that was probably supposed to be seductive but just made Yuuri’s skin crawl. Yuuri turned them all down with a smile that was so forced sometimes he worried his cheeks might crack.

Viktor hadn’t been like that at all. Yuuri actually hadn’t minded when his hand spread wide against the expanse of his back. He’d said “you can touch me” and expected Viktor to immediately go for his ass, or his nipples like some of the more brazen patrons who wanted to see if they could make him squirm. He’d almost seemed like the type to do something like that. But, he hadn’t. He’d gone for the curve of Yuuri’s spine, his fingers so gentle as he started at the small of his back and slowly drew them upwards, his touch as soft as his gaze. During the dance, Yuuri felt his eyes on his body intermittently whenever Yuuri did something daring with his movements, but most of the time Viktor was gazing up at his face. His eyes were sharp and blue like clear summer skies, bright with interest as he beamed up at Yuuri. For some reason completely unknown to him, Yuuri found that he couldn’t quite manage to look away.

So, he hadn’t. His job was to entrance and captivate the customer, right? If he wanted to gaze happily up into Yuuri’s eyes, who was he to stop him? Besides, he’s dealt with much, much more forward behavior from customers before, all of it unwelcome.

Viktor’s hands were… something, that’s for sure, but between him and himself, he has to admit that they weren’t exactly unwelcome.

Yuuri shivers at the memory, as though the ghost of Viktor’s hand is still caressing his spine.

Then Yuuri had said his nickname, a tiny piece of home that he’d taken with him from Japan. A reminder of warmth, family and home. Viktor had lit up—he hadn’t thought it was possible for the man to look even more exuberant and enthralled, but once again, Viktor surprised him. He’d said his name with the same kind of reverence he was watching Yuuri with, the same kind of heat that had been bubbling out of him since the instant their eyes met. He’d asked him to go get Katsudon with him, such a painfully naïve and kind offer that before Yuuri had thought better of it, he’d almost said yes.

Yuuri likes how Viktor had said the name, like it’s folded in the same kind warmth that envelopes him when says the name himself. A part of him wants to hear Viktor saying it again. It’s silly, he knows it’s silly.

But no matter how silly he knows it is, it doesn’t stop him from nearly stumbling and his heart skipping a beat a few nights later, when he looks over to the private section of the club for his next lap dance request, and catches familiar blue eyes watching him.

Viktor waves enthusiastically and grins so hard Yuuri wonders if it hurts his face at all.

Yuuri tries to keep his face as neutral as possible as he approaches Viktor, who is watching him approach with the same wide and blinding smile he remembers from the other night. He’s exuding a kind of excitement that Yuuri isn’t quite sure he deserves, but appreciates nonetheless.

“You’re back,” Yuuri says when he’s within earshot, slipping on a practiced suggestive smile. It’s good business to remember your customers, he reminds himself. That’s why he’s saying it, definitely not because a small part of him had been half hoping to see Viktor in the audience again tonight.

Viktor nods rather enthusiastically. “And you’re here!”

“Well,” Yuuri says simply, ignoring a rush of embarrassment as he braces one hand on the back of Viktor’s chair and slings one leg over his lap with no warning. He’s more than a little bit pleased when he’s rewarded with a moment of wide eyed surprise on Viktor’s face. “I do work here.”

Viktor gapes with his mouth open a little bit. “Wow! Yes, you sure do!”

“I do,” Yuuri agrees again, and he starts moving his hips along with the music. He doesn’t get it. He’s almost embarrassed for this guy, with his eagerness and the way that he can switch from suave and charming, to childlike excitement in an instant. Well, no. Not embarrassed, but Yuuri almost feels like he should be.

Somehow, despite this, Yuuri can’t help but find Viktor a little bit endearing.

“Your performance was wonderful tonight, Katsu.” Viktor smiles up at him, slow like honey, sweet but sharp, aimed for Yuuri’s heart. “You looked beautiful up there.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer. Quickly, he grabs Viktor’s tie and wraps it around his hand, dips his head back and rolls his stomach along with the music, face tilted up to the ceiling as he tries to will away the blush warming his cheeks. Why is he so easy? He’s a stripper, for goodness sake, customers say much more lewd things to him all the time, why is this man so good at making his heart flutter in his chest?

It’s how genuine and enthusiastic Viktor is, Yuuri figures as he draws himself back up to face Viktor and drops the tie, opting to rest his forearms on Viktor’s shoulders. It’s the way that he says everything to Yuuri like he’s never been happier to be talking to anyone in his life.

Judging by the suit—jacket slung over a nearby chair at the moment, his crisp white shirt and dress pants, the tie he was just gripping in one hand—Yuuri makes an educated guess that he’s probably good at being delightful and that's how he can afford to come to a strip club twice in less than a week (and tip generously, might he add). Charming businessman. He does this for a living, probably. He’s nothing special, Yuuri reminds himself. Viktor likely has been trained to make anyone feel this exact way.

However, Yuuri can’t help but be pleased to notice that every time he takes control of the interaction and throws his best Eros at him, Viktor’s easy, smooth charisma slips slightly. Like right now, as Yuuri notes the way that Viktor’s eyes have widened and his lips are parted slightly. Yuuri flourishes under his gaze.

 _Yes_ , Yuuri thinks. _Just for this moment, I am irresistible to you._

Yuuri doesn’t think he can be blamed for loving this man’s gaze on him; he has no doubt in his mind that most people feel the same way.

“I’m so glad you’re here tonight,” Viktor says, and Yuuri hates that he believes him. His eyes ask for permission as he tentatively places warm, soft hands on Yuuri’s hips, right over the fabric of his shorts. Yuuri gives him a nod, granting him permission, and Viktor relaxes. “I came last night and you weren’t here.”

“I’m sure the other dancers were perfectly entertaining,” Yuuri answers automatically.

Viktor shakes his head. “I left when I realized you weren’t working. I don’t really like strip clubs. Not that there’s anything wrong with them! They’re just.” Viktor pauses, waves his hand in a vague motion. “Not for me.”

Yuuri gives him a pointed look. “You’re at a strip club for the third time in a week.”

“Well. I don’t like strip clubs, but I like you,” Viktor says simply, like it’s not the most ridiculous thing Yuuri’s heard tonight.

“You don’t know me,” Yuuri answers. His cheeks are not getting warm. They’re not.

“I want to, though.”

“You know, most people come in here just to stare at the dancer’s asses.”

“And you have a lovely ass,” Viktor says, politely, casually, like he’s complimenting Yuuri’s hair. “But I like talking to you more.”

Yuuri sighs. If he’d stopped at _you have a lovely ass,_ this would be a lot easier to deal with. Normal. People compliment his ass all the time. They don’t try to talk to him. “I don’t get you,” he admits.

Viktor looks at him intently with those earnest blue eyes, and tilts his head to one side. “Do you want to?”

What strikes Yuuri is that he asks it like it’s an actual question. It’s not suggestive, it’s not the way men usually say things like that to him, like knowing him is a privilege that Yuuri must be dying for. No, Viktor says it with an almost shy hopefulness. Like if Yuuri wants it, he’s willing to give it to him.

Charmer, Yuuri thinks. He knows how to make people feel special. It’s an act, and they’re actors.

Sure. Yuuri can play along.

“Sure,” Yuuri says, playing the part. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“What would you like to know, beautiful?”

Yuuri schools his expression into a neutral one. He’s dealt with men like this before. Well, not _exactly_ like this, but he’s sure it’s the same old story, just a different method. He can handle this. “Something true,” he says..

“Well, I have a dog. Her name is Makkachin.”

“What kind of dog?”

“A poodle, She’s old now, I’ve had her since I was a kid.”

“I love poodles,” Yuuri offers. He doesn’t tell Viktor that he’d had one himself when he was younger, that the small dog had died recently, since he left him. He shakes the thought away—thinking of his childhood pet still makes him sad, and this isn’t the time to reminisce.

It’s a small thing, but Yuuri is a little bit pleased to hear that Viktor likes the same kind of dog as him. He doesn’t know why, but it’s… nice. Being a poodle owner definitely earns Viktor a few points in Yuuri’s book.

Viktor perks up. “Really? You should meet her, she would love you! She loves meeting people, she’s really friendly.”

“You can’t bring a dog to a strip club,” Yuuri says. He pictures it; this beautiful, well-to-do silver haired man who looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread, standing under the flashing club lights, amongst half dressed strippers in stiletto heels… leading a greying poodle through the throngs of people without a care in the world. The image is absolutely delightful for some reason. The funny thing is, Yuuri barely knows the man, but he doesn’t think he would put it past Viktor to try and do something like that.

Yuuri’s attention snaps back to Viktor when he realizes the other man hasn’t responded.

Viktor’s looking up at him with wide eyes, and a small, surprised smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Um. What is it?” Yuuri asks, confused.

“You just giggled,” Viktor explains, slowly and deliberately, like he’s turning the fact over in his mind carefully, examining it. “That was adorable.”

Yuuri blinks. “Um.”

“How can you be so devastatingly sexy one moment, then unfairly adorable the next?” Viktor says it with delight, like he’s wondering out loud. He’s not really asking Yuuri. It’s like he thinks it’s a mystery, one he has to unravel very carefully and examine every angle. “You’re amazing.”

“Um,” Yuuri says again, very eloquently, glancing away. He’s suddenly very aware of the warmth of Viktor’s hands seeping through his shorts where they still are cradling his hips, and the fact that a matching warmth is creeping to his cheeks yet again. What is with this man?

Mercifully, the song ends just then, sliding into the next upbeat track, similar throbbing beat pulsing over the music. Yuuri scrambles out of Viktor’s lap and to his feet.

“I-I have to go,” he stammers out.

When Yuuri meets Viktor’s eyes again, he looks disappointed, for sure, but he willingly drops his hands from Yuuri’s waist. “Of course. Thank you for the dance, Katsu.”

“Just doing my job,” Yuuri mumbles.

Viktor nods. “May I come again?”

Yuuri gives Viktor a weak smile. “It’s an open establishment.”

Viktor chews at his bottom lip, as if maybe he’s suddenly unsure. “But do you want me to?”

Yuuri sighs. “I work again tomorrow night.”

Luckily, Viktor seems to accept this as an answer, and he nods happily. “Okay. Great. I’ll be here.”

Then, because he is the strangest man Yuuri has ever met, Viktor reaches out to grab Yuuri’s left hand in his own, slowly, as if giving Yuuri a moment to step away and refuse. Yuuri lets him, half out of curiosity, half because Viktor is looking at him with something gentle in his eyes and he finds himself powerless to disengage.

Viktor gently curls his fingers around Yuuri’s hand and, to Yuuri’s surprise, slowly brings their joined hands to his lips. He presses a kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles, his mouth soft and warm against Yuuri’s skin, his eyes never leaving Yuuri’s for a moment.

There’s no stopping it at this point, Yuuri’s full on blushing. There’s no point in trying to deny it.

Viktor lingers with his lips pressed to the back of Yuuri’s hand for what seems like a century, before he draws away. Yuuri can feel his breath ghost across his skin. A small shiver runs up his spine.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Viktor says.

He drops Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri nods shakily and steps back, trying to find his voice.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “Tomorrow.”

With that he turns quickly and darts towards the darkened back back of the club, out of sight, trying to get his heartbeat back under control.

When he turns around a few moments later from the shroud of darkness at the back of the club, Viktor is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Viktor doesn’t hate his new apartment, but not once in the weeks since he moved in has it felt like home. 

It’s a bit bigger than his place in St. Petersburg, and objectively it’s a little bit nicer. The windows are bigger, so they easily let midday sunlight pour into the spacious living area. The ceilings are higher, the countertops a bit more modern and expensive looking. The promotion and relocation has given him the money to pay for something like this. 

He doesn’t love it, but it’s nice. He can’t deny that. 

The process of unpacking is always slow. It’s a process of letting go and remembering, Viktor thinks, and he doesn’t have the luxury of doing it carelessly, letting it become a menial task as he goes through the motions of opening box after box. He can’t let it become like white noise in the background. Each thing he takes out of its box is heavy with both the memory and absence of  _ home.  _

This painting was a gift from his mother, and it had hung over the chaise in his living room. Windswept figures, their backs to the viewer, standing arm in arm on the docks by the ocean. It’s a spot in Saint Petersburg that he’s familiar with, but doesn’t know. He doesn’t miss the docks themselves, but he misses the way the painting looked against the creamy white wall in his living room. 

It would have been different if he’d been leaving for a reason. For something that mattered. 

He’s almost finished though, and he’s finally rooting through the final boxes. The third last box contains all of his towels and linens. The second last box contains the last batch of his books, the box with most of his favourites;  _ The Portrait of Dorian Gray, The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Universe,  _ his book of Emily Dickinson poetry, to name a few. He spends far too long putting each face cloth and towel away in his new linen closet, and then even longer to carefully place each book on his shelf. 

If someone were to ask him if he was deliberately avoiding opening that last box, he would have laughed and waved the question away. He would have quickly 

But there’s no one with him to ask that question. Only himself. It’s harder to lie to himself. 

When he finally can’t in good conscience ignore it anymore, he sits down on the floor next to the box with a heavy sigh. Makkachin pads over to him then, and gives him a very wet kiss on his cheek. Laughing, he buries his fingers in her fur and gives her the scratch she’s begging for. 

“You need all the attention, don’t you?” Viktor asks fondly as she huffs and flops down with her head on his knee. 

Still smiling, he leans down and gives her an obnoxious kiss on the top of her head. She just huffs again and pushes back against his hand with the back of her head, demanding that he continue to give her scratches. 

He obliges, of course. What the princess wants, she always gets. 

It’s awkward to one-handedly tear the tape off the box, but he manages all the same. He balls the tape up in his hand and tosses it aside. Then, with the utmost care, he opens the top of his box. 

All of his unused, figuratively dusty camera equipment stares back up at him. 

Viktor sighs. Why had he even brought it? He hasn’t felt inspired to take a single picture in over a year now; why didn’t he just sell it and not force himself to remember that the joy of photography has been sucked out of him? 

“I’m not ready to let go, I don’t think,” he tells Makkachin. “I want to be inspired again.”

Of course, he gets no response, but that doesn’t bother him. Makkachin has always been the best listener. 

“I’ll just take pictures of you,” Viktor says, leaning down to kiss the top of her head again. “You’ve always been the best model.” 

He cuddles her close and strokes his fingers through her fur and, completely unbidden, the images of soft brown eyes and a deadly smirk fill his mind. 

Maybe at the very least, he can find inspiration elsewhere. 

***

It’s been two weeks since the first night Viktor laid eyes on Katsu, and Viktor has spent more evenings at the strip club than he’d once expected he would in his entire life.  

Not that he really cares about this at all. Not in the slightest. Every night he’s been at Grand Prixxx he’s talked to Katsu, and honestly he couldn’t care less about the location of their meeting. Viktor has never been one to be embarrassed about how he feels—a result of a lifetime of being “too trigger happy”, or at least he’s been told—and he has no problem admitting that he doesn’t care where he has to go to see Katsu. Just a few moments in his presence makes it all worth it.

Besides, the club isn’t the worst place in the world, if he’s being honest. It’s loud and sweaty and there are way too many creepy people hanging around, but the dancers are great, the music is fun and thanks to a few particular dancers, there always seems to be glitter clinging to every surface.

And again, Katsu is there. That alone makes it more than worth it.

In the two weeks that he’s been frequenting Grand Prixxx, Viktor dares to think that Katsu seems to have been slowly warming up to Viktor. In little, subtle ways—amazingly, despite his occupation and the fact that he oozes sex appeal on stage, one on one he seems a lot more reserved. Viktor likes it, but it also just means that he has to pay extra close attention to the way Katsu talks to him and moves around him. Every lingering touch and every half-smile is catalogued in his mind to think about for hours before he falls asleep that night.

Every time Viktor shows up and Katsu notices him sitting there in his regular seat, his face lights with surprise before he turns away, disappearing before Viktor barely has even a chance to blink. Viktor will then wave a waiter over, order a drink and ask for an audience with a certain dark haired dancer. Every night, the waiter would tell him that Katsu is very popular and in high demand, so he’d be waiting quite a while. Maybe he wanted to get a lap dance from one of their other dancers? Viktor would politely decline. He wasn’t here for the lap dance, after all. Well, to be fair, there was nothing he didn’t enjoy about having a beautiful man writhing on his lap, he was only human—but really he was only there to see Katsu.

By the fifth time he shows up looking for Katsu, the waiter stops asking. Viktor gets his drink and settles in to wait.

Katsu really does seem to be their most popular dancer. While Viktor waits, he’d catch glimpses of him giving dances to other patrons, muscles rippling and hips grinding along with the music. Viktor would down a few more drinks as he waits impatiently. He was more than willing to wait as long as it took for Katsu to get around to him, but he wasn’t going to lie and pretend that it wasn’t agony and that he hadn’t been thinking all day about coming to see him.

Finally, it would be Viktor’s turn and he would drink in every single moment of their time together with the kind of desperation of a man who is dying for water, and Katsu is the only thing in the world that can quench his thirst. Katsu comes to him near the end of his shift, slides into his lap with no preamble, gives Viktor a shy smile and says hello, like they’re two friends meeting for coffee and he’s not sitting a few centimetres away from Viktor’s crotch.

Once, Katsu asks why he doesn’t just come towards the end of the night instead of waiting around for Katsu to get around to him. Viktor shrugs, tells him honestly that if he did that, he’d miss out on a full evening of watching Katsu’s performances, and that would be a damn shame. Katsu had blushed, turned his face away and changed the subject. That’s one of the things that is endlessly intriguing and endearing to Viktor; Katsu oozes sex appeal on stage, moves his body like it’s an instrument he’s been training his whole life to play, and yet it’s absurdly easy to make him flustered. Half the time, Viktor isn’t even trying, he’s just telling Katsu the truth and it just so happens to be a compliment. 

Once Katsu starts to warm up to Viktor more, they mostly just chat while Katsu gives Viktor his lap dance. Katsu is very adamant about the whole “no giving personal information” thing, so the topics of their conversations are somewhat limited, but that doesn’t mean Viktor enjoys them any less. Viktor tells him about his job—he’s an executive for a sporting goods company that specializes in skating equipment. He spends way too much time behind a desk, but he does all right. He tells Katsu more about Makkachin—they’re still trying to decide on which park in the area around their new Detroit apartment is the best for their daily walks after work. One night, Katsu hesitantly asks Viktor if he can see pictures of Makkachin, and Viktor fumbles excitedly for his phone, because there’s very little in the world that Viktor loves more than showing people how adorable his dog is.

It’s a little awkward because Katsu has to keep dancing while Viktor shows him pictures of his beloved poodle so his boss doesn’t get mad, but they make it work.

Viktor tells Katsu about Russia, and how much he misses it already. He talks about his favourite little restaurant that sells the best pirozkhi, and to his delight, Katsu responds to this by telling him about how his mom makes the best katsudon in the world. He’s less willing to give details about himself than Viktor is, so Viktor hangs on to every single detail Katsu is generous enough to give him. He files them away for safekeeping, makes a list in his mind. Katsu doesn’t like mornings, misses his sister back in Japan like crazy (they used to go ice skating together, Katsu reminisces... he misses that too) and he is trained in ballet (which explains a lot).

So, it becomes habit. They’ll chat for the duration of two songs (three, if the place isn’t busy and Viktor tips well enough to keep Katsu’s boss off of his back) at least once, but sometimes if he’s lucky, Katsu will have a chance to come back at least once more before the night is over. When it’s the last dance of the night, Viktor will see him off with a chaste kiss on the hand, which never fails to make that familiar pretty blush bloom over Katsu’s cheeks, and would tell him when he’d be able to come by next, and Katsu tells him if he’ll be working or not.

Of course, Viktor has every intention of following through when he says that he’s going to show up on a certain day, but sometimes it seems that life has other plans. On one particular Friday evening, Viktor finds himself still in his office long after he’s supposed to be home, elbow deep in paperwork, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to go anywhere anytime soon. An intern forgot to make note of an important meeting being rescheduled—the poor kid came to Viktor with frantic, terrified eyes and told him that the meeting had been moved from next week to the next morning. Viktor had sighed, called Chris to ask him to feed Makkachin and take him for a walk, and settled in for a long night of work.

Luckily, Viktor is nothing if not thorough and good at his job, so preparing for the presentation he’s supposed to give at the meeting is doable in one evening, but by the time he’s finished he has a splitting headache. He just wants to go home and crawl into bed with Makkachin and sleep for a few hours before he has to be back at the office to give the presentation he just spent hours preparing, and hope no one notices how last minute it was.

He should really go home. A hot meal and sleep are more than in order at this point.

But Viktor really can’t be expected to make smart decisions all the time, especially when it’s the wee hours of the morning, he’s dead tired and fighting an all consuming infatuation. So, that’s why when his feet take him down a familiar route to Grand Prixxx, he doesn’t even berate himself. Delaying sleep for another hour or two won’t matter too much at this point, anyways, right? Plus, he told Yuuri he would be there. It’d be rude to not show up. Really, he has no choice in the matter, he figures.

When he gets to Grand Prixxx, things seem to be starting to wind down. There are about half as many customers hanging around as there usually are when Viktor arrives, and no one is on stage dancing an over-the-top routine to a flashy song. Instead, there are dancers dispersed on the floor, and a low throbbing beat fills the air, just loud enough that Viktor can feel it pulsing in his bones as he makes his way to his regular seat.  

A thorough and hopeful scan of the room leaves him disappointed; Katsu is nowhere in sight.

Not even bothering to try not to pout—he’s had a long day, he’s allowed to be a little bit petulant, he thinks—he orders a drink from the nearest waiter, and asks for Katsu.

His drink arrives first, but he’s only just setting his glass down on the table after his first sip when he looks up and sees that Katsu is walking towards him.

Viktor is not prepared for the sight that meets his eyes. If he’d been warned, he still wouldn’t have been prepared. He draws in a sharp breath, exhales an expletive under his breath.

Katsu is wearing a new outfit; short, short light jean shorts, his lean, muscled legs bared for all to see. His shirt is a loose crop top with armholes cut deep into the fabric, so every time Katsu moves, his sides and toned, smooth stomach are revealed. Across the front of the shorts, black straps extend in bold lines across his hips, then the straps go lower, loop around his mid-thigh, all connected together by silver rings. His outfit is accessorized with tall stiletto heels set with a constellation of rhinestones against a dark blue backdrop, and a pair of black fingerless gloves.  [ [REF] ](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/private/159798846156/tumblr_ooq3m0gifB1uax6og)

And, the most important thing; a pair of blockish, narrow rimmed glasses that are sitting casually on the bridge of his nose like they belong there.

Viktor has never thought glasses looked cuter on anyone in the entire world.

As he’s approaching, Katsu gives Viktor a shy little wave and a small smile. Of course, Viktor just about melts right there. And, it might be foolish, wishful thinking, but he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Katsu looks relieved to see him here, like maybe he’s walking over to Viktor eagerly, as if maybe been hoping Viktor would show up.

“It’s late,” Katsu says when he’s close enough, “I thought you might not be coming tonight.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Viktor smiles up at Katsu; it’s a tired smile, hangs around the corners of his mouth heavy like lead, but it’s genuine. He’s exhausted, of course, but god is he ever happy to see Katsu. Some of the weight lifts off of his shoulders, his chest fills with fond warmth. “Sorry, darling.”

The affectionate pet name slips out unintentionally; thanks to the weariness that is cloaked over his shoulders, making his mind fuzzy and his eyelids feel much heavier than usual, whatever limited filters Viktor had on a normal day seem to have completely tapped out for the night.  

Thankfully, Katsu only seems a little bit surprised, and doesn’t look displeased or anything.

Katsu seems to hesitate for a moment before reaching out a tentative hand and briefly brushing his fingers over Viktor’s cheek. “You look tired,” he remarks. “You okay?”

“I am now,” Viktor says, which is so unbelievably corny, but it’s true. He’s only been in Katsu’s presence for a few moments, but he can already feel the stress of the day sliding off of him, dissipating into the air around him. He looks up into warm, coffee-brown eyes and thinks that they can probably cure just about anything.

“That was quite the line,” Katsu says, amusement playing around his lips.

Viktor shrugs, smiles sheepishly. Let him think it’s just a line, Viktor figures.  

“Long day?” Katsu asks. He rests his forearms on Viktor’s shoulders and, unthinkingly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Viktor lifts his hands to rest on Katsu’s hips.

“Very long day,” Viktor confirms.

Katsu winces in sympathy. “So you came down here at two in the morning to… unwind? Shouldn’t you be home sleeping?”

“Aw, are you worrying about me?” Viktor asks, his voice filled with a teasing, quiet glee. “You’re very kind, Katsu.”

Katsu’s mouth gapes open for a moment, his eyes widen. “I—I was just asking, it’s nothing weird, I—“

Viktor decides to have mercy on him. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing,” he says, shaking his head. “No need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Katsu says quickly, with firm surety, his eyes sliding away from Viktor. 

“Mmm,” Viktor hums, placating. He squeezes Katsu’s hip reassuringly.

“You missed my new routine,” Katsu says abruptly, words coming out a little too fast, tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall. He’s very clearly trying to change the subject.

“I’m very disappointed,” Viktor says, and he really is. It was bad enough that he missed Katsu’s routine in the first place—it never gets less exhilarating to see Katsu on stage, it’s an experience every single time—but missing a new routine? Truly a travesty.

Katsu seems to hesitate before speaking. “You should be,” he says after a moment. “The applause and cheering was much quieter with you not here.”

Viktor’s brows raise slightly in surprise. Is Katsu teasing him?

If he is, Viktor is too scared to bring attention to it and potentially scare him into never doing it again. He clears his throat, tries to suppress the giddiness that is rising in his chest, and probably completely failing. “What can I say,” Viktor says, completely unashamed and beaming up at Katsu. “I’m your number one fan, I have to make sure everyone knows it.”

“Please.” Katsu rolls his eyes, says this in a way that sounds like no you’re not.

Viktor isn’t sure if this means that Katsu doesn’t believe that he could have a number one fan, or if he thinks that there is someone else who is a bigger fan of him than Viktor is, but regardless, Viktor knows whichever it is Katsu is thinking, he’s wrong.

“It’s true!” Viktor insists. “Also, I like the new outfit.”

“Thanks,” Katsu says, glancing down at himself briefly. “Phi—my friend helped me pick it out.”

“Your friend has good taste,” Viktor says truthfully. He wants to write Katsu's friend a thank you letter and give him a fruit basket. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” Katsu mumbles.

“The glasses are my favourite part,” Viktor continues. He lifts one hand off of Katsu’s hip, lifts it to touch the side of his face just below where one of the glasses arms rest on his face. His fingers linger for the briefest moment before he forces himself to let it drop back to Katsu’s waist. “They’re cute on you.”

“My—oh!” Katsu’s hand flies up to his face, fingers brushing against the rim of his glasses, his eyes widening in surprise. “I took my contacts out after my shift, I forgot I was wearing them.”

Viktor’s heart swells at Katsu’s obvious confusion—his wide, dazed expression is adorable as everything he does. “They suit you!” he says, truthfully. Then, he frowns in realization. “Wait, after your shift?”

“Um, yeah. My shift ends at two am.”

“You’re giving me a lap dance after your shift ended?” Viktor gestures to where Katsu is almost sitting in his lap, leisurely swaying his hips to the the low thrum of music around them.

Katsu blinks at him. “Yes?”

“Not that I’m complaining, but why?”

For the second time in less than five minutes, Katsu looks completely caught off guard again. “Um. Well.”

Viktor stares up at him, waiting. His hands are suddenly clammy and his heart feels like its beating a little bit faster than it was a moment ago. Katsu isn’t obligated to be talking to him right now, and yet he is. He chose to. Viktor isn’t sure what to do with this information.

Katsu opens his mouth, closes it, hunches one shoulder up to his ear, looks away from Viktor. “You… paid really well?”

There’s a long pause while Katsu holds his gaze, chewing at his bottom lip, hesitance and uncertainty hovering in his features. “Also,” he says eventually, his voice going quiet enough that Viktor has to lean in a little bit to hear him. “Also, I-I missed you tonight.”

Dumbfounded, Viktor just stares at Katsu blankly. All thoughts flee from his mind, and he is left with Katsu’s face, his soft brown eyes, the warmth of his arms resting on Viktor’s shoulders, the feeling of his own heart beating in jagged time with the throb of the base rumbling through the room—

Numbly, Viktor reaches one hand up and pinches his own cheek. Hard.

“Um, what are you doing?”

“Checking to see if I’m a ghost,” Viktor explains, his voice astonishingly level, despite the fact that his heart is rattling against his ribcage with urgency. “Because there’s no way this is real life. I’m in heaven right?”

Katsu stares at Viktor’s face for a long, long moment, like he isn’t quite following what Viktor is saying. Welcome to the club, Viktor thinks wryly. At least they’re both confused.

Then, because Katsu seems to like surprising him so much, his face breaks out into a grin. “Oh my goodness,” he says, his voice all breathy, the end of the word trailing off into a giggle. “You are—“

Viktor’s heart just about stops in his chest and he makes an audible squeaking noise, because what happens next is that Katsu’s legs seem to fail him. They decide to no longer support Katsu’s weight, and he is suddenly sitting in Viktor’s lap, arms slung around Viktor’s shoulder’s, giggling into his neck, his laughter sending tremors through his body, warm breath against Viktor’s neck—

“Your face… You were so serious! You’re so… ridiculous,” Katsu is saying now, between these adorable, hiccupping giggles that are still escaping his mouth. “It’s been a long night and you’re gorgeous and I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now.”

While Katsu is breaking down into a laughing fit, Viktor is having a breakdown of his own. He’s dreaming. He’s dead. There’s no other explanation. Katsu is sitting in his lap, clinging to him like he’s a lifeline, giggling into his neck like he can’t control himself. This doesn’t happen in real life, does it?

Viktor’s only half processing what Katsu is talking about—he’s more just rolling on the waves of Katsu’s voice; his brain is too foggy to process what he’s actually saying.

Unthinkingly, his arms start to wind around Katsu’s waist, so he’s essentially holding him—cradling him—while he sits in his lap. It seems like the only logical course of action in this very confusing, absurd situation.

Katsu lets out a little snort of laughter and presses his nose into the crease where Viktor’s neck meets his shoulder and mutters something unintelligible into Viktor’s skin. He’s so close that Viktor can feel his lips moving against his own skin, sending a shiver up Viktor’s spine.

In the end, Viktor just blurts it out.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s so late at night, or the fact that Viktor is so tired his head is swimming and he’s worried about how he’s going to find the energy to make it back to his apartment. Maybe its because Viktor feels like he’s been detached from his body, like he’s been severed from his own existence and is floating in a dream world where the unthinkable can happen.

Or maybe it’s just been a long time coming, and they’ve been moving towards this moment for weeks now. Maybe this moment was inevitable.

Whatever it is, the words slip out of his mouth. “Please let me take you on a date, Katsu.”

Katsu’s small breathy laughs stop and he stills for a moment, completely silent.

Viktor stiffens, realizes what he just asked. He’d said the first night they met that they couldn’t go out together, and Viktor hadn’t meant to ask, it just… happened. Accidentally.

It hadn’t felt like real life, but Viktor’s weight against his own body suddenly feels very solid and very, very real.

Katsu sits back in his lap, just enough so that they’re face to face, nose to nose, and looks at him owl-eyed. He appraises Viktor with a curious, searching gaze, chewing at his bottom lip again.

“Okay.”

Viktor blinks. “What?”

“Okay,” Yuuri repeats. He nods, almost seeming as if he’s confirming this to himself, not Viktor. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

Katsu’s words are buzzing around his head, struggling to find somewhere to land long enough for Viktor to fully comprehend their meaning.

“You will?”

Katsu nods again. “Wait here.”

With that, he slides out of Viktor’s lap—a devastating loss, and Viktor has to consciously remind himself to release his arms from around Katsu’s waist—and hurries over to the bar, while Viktor canes his neck to watch whatever he’s up to. He waves one of the waiters over, speaks into their ear, smiles at them and says thank you when they pass him what looks like a pen. 

When Katsu is back by his side again, he curls long, slender fingers around Viktor’s wrist, gently turns Viktor’s arm over and rolls up his sleeve, baring his pale forearm. Katsu uncaps the pen with his thumb, and starts writing. 

“Please don’t be a serial killer.” The request probably meant to be a joke, but hesitates a little bit before speaking, and it ends up coming out a lot more nervous than he probably intended.

Viktor feels a compelling urge to kiss that nervousness off of his face, but luckily he resists. He doesn’t think that would be the best move—if he ever gets to kiss Yuuri, he doesn’t really want it to be in the context of trying to convince him that he’s not a serial killer.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer,” Viktor says, giving Katsu what he hopes is his most reassuring smile.

“That’s something a serial killer would say,” Katsu points out. “But… I think I’ll take the risk.”

“Because I’m cute?” Viktor grins.

Katsu pats his arm where he wrote his number. “Because you’re cute,” he agrees.

Viktor is going to explode into a beam of pure sunlight any moment.

“Now go home and get some sleep,” Katsu says firmly, stepping back.

“You do the same,” Viktor says, genuinely. “And I’ll… I’ll call you?”

Katsu nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly when he swallows. “Good,” he says, his voice so quiet it’s nearly lost in the music.

Then, because it’s their tradition, Viktor reaches for Katsu’s hand and lifts it to his mouth, kisses the back of his hand gently, keeping his gaze locked on Katsu’s all the while. “I can’t wait.”

Katsu looks at him for a moment, those soft, kind eyes staring at him thoughtfully before, finally, he says: “Me neither.”

With that, he turns on his heel and hurries away, leaving Viktor to watch him go, his heart beating so fast, his stomach flip-flopping so much he worries it’s going to jump up into his throat.

***

Monthly Mimosa Morning had been Chris’s idea, of course, but Viktor was more than on board with the idea. Once a month he and Chris would meet up at a fancy breakfast place, order too many mimosas and eat the way that neither of the allowed themselves to any time of the year, and gossip.

Of course, the first mimosa brunch they have together in Detroit is the day before Viktor’s date with Katsu. Miraculously, Viktor has managed to keep quiet about it up until now, figuring that this was a prime mimosa brunch gossip topic and deserved to be discussed over fancy breakfast foods and alcohol socially accepted for morning consumption.

In true Viktor Nikiforov fashion, the news bursts out of him while Chris is in the middle of talking about a date he had himself the week before, and he really does want to hear about Chris’s date, he does, but he’s just so excited he can’t keep it in any longer—

“Katsu said yes to going out on a date with me!”

Chris stops talking immediately, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

“Okay,” Chris says simply, quirking a brow at Viktor, “you got a date with the stripper from Grand Prixxx?”

Viktor nods enthusiastically.

“And you let me talk about my bad date with the sales manager from downstairs for twenty minutes?”

Viktor shrugs.

Chris waves a hand. “We can put a pin in that. Tell me more, immediately.”

Because he can’t help himself, Viktor tells the story while practically bouncing in his seat, his hands gesturing around as he tells Chris how he’d gone to the club after the shitty day at work, and showed up to find Katsu looking like he stepped down from stripper heaven to mingle with mere mortals. He tells Chris about Katsu laughing, and Chris has to hurry him along when he takes far too long to describe Katsu sitting in his lap and the sound of his laughter. It’s not Viktor’s fault, though. It’s a very vivid memory in his mind, and he’s spent an absurd amount of time thinking about it over the past couple of days.

“He said I could keep coming back,” Viktor finishes, “I just like talking to him, I never thought he’d actually say yes to me.”

Chris tips his face down and peers at Viktor over the top of his sunglasses. “How many times have you been to the club to see him since the night we went together?”

Viktor purses his lips, considers this for a few moments. “Eight? Maybe. I think. I don’t remember exactly! Let’s say eight.”

At this, Chris quirks a brow in surprise. “It’s been two weeks, Viktor.”

Viktor shrugs and grins at Chris, completely unapologetic.

Chris barks out a laugh and leans back in his chair to take a sip of his mimosa. “I should’ve expected this, to be honest. You’ve never been one for doing things halfway.”

“He’s amazing, Chris,” Viktor gushes, puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. He can’t help the wistful smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth as the thought of Katsu, face flushed and bright with amusement at Viktor’s antics. Viktor thinks he could get addicted to making him laugh. “He’s kind and beautiful and I want to see him every single day if I can.”

“You barely know him,” Chris points out, setting his champagne glass on the table. He picks up a fork and starts poking at his waffles.

“I know enough to know he’s wonderful,” Viktor counters. “Enough to know that I want to know more.”

“So romantic.” Chris grins at him widely. “I had no idea you were such a romantic, Viktor. I’ve never seen you like this over someone.”

“Because it’s taken me this long to meet Katsu,” Viktor explains, like it’s the most obvious and undeniable fact in the world. If Viktor hasn’t been a romantic for his whole life, it’s because he was subconsciously saving it all for Katsu this entire time.

“Well, then.” Chris shakes his head, lips creased in a smile that is equal parts amused and awed. “I supposed congratulations are in order. For both of us, since I’m the one who made it happen. Told you the strip club was a good idea.” Chris winks.

“I suppose so.” Viktor smiles, unable to deny it this time. “Congratulations to both of us!”

Chris reaches for his glass, lifts it in Viktor’s direction. Following suit, Viktor curls his fingers around the stem of his champagne glass, lifting his half-finished mimosa to clink against Chris’.

“Cheers,” Chris says, gives Viktor a nod before they both drink.

“I have to say something, though,” Chris says the instant Viktor sets his glass back down on the table. “You need to be careful.”

Viktor frowns slightly. “Careful with what?”

“He’s a stripper, Viktor,” Chris says matter-of-factly. “He’s probably breaking the rules agreeing to go out with you, and he’s also probably dealt with creepy assholes before and he’s taking a chance on you.”

“Do you think I’m a creepy asshole?” Viktor asks incredulously. Hell, he’s not perfect, but he doesn’t think he’s that bad.

“No, you don’t have it in you to be an asshole.” Chris chuckles, waving Viktor’s question away. “And you’re too charming and sunshine-y to be creepy.”

Viktor relaxes a little. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying he’s probably going to be worried that you’re going to take advantage of him,” Chris explains. “The kinds of people who normally ask out strippers generally have certain… expectations.”

At Chris’ words, Viktor’s eyes widen in realization. “You think that he thinks I’m just trying to sleep with him?”

“At best, yes,” Chris says bluntly. “And I didn’t say he thinks that, just that he’s probably worried about it, and you should be careful about making him uncomfortable or giving him the wrong impression.”

Viktor shifts nervously in his seat. “How do I do that?”

“Take him somewhere really public, don’t come on too strong and don’t ask too much of him,” Chris ticks the options off on his fingers as he speaks. “And if you really like him and want to date him, don’t proposition him. Respect his boundaries.”

“Right, right,” Viktor mumbles dejectedly. He feels a little stupid. How had he been thinking about this non-stop for the past couple days and not thought of any of this?

Also, there’s a ball of worry sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. Had he made Katsu uncomfortable without meaning to? Frantically, he searches his memory for a time when maybe he came on too strong, invaded some boundary and made Katsu uncomfortable. That’s the last thing in the entire world he wants to do, and god, he should’ve considered it sooner.

“Hey now, stop it with that kicked puppy expression,” Chris reprimands, snapping his fingers in front of Viktor’s face. “He said yes to going out with you, hm?”

“Yes,” Viktor agrees, albeit hesitantly.

“No one made him do that,” Chris says. “He must like you, right? Don’t worry too much. Just be careful.”

“I’ll be careful,” Viktor promises, staring down at his waffles instead of at Chris’ face. The unease in his stomach grows a little larger, tendrils of worry weaving their way through the web of excitement Viktor has woven ever since Katsu agreed to go out with him.

He tries to think about Katsu’s eyes—deep brown, soft, warm—and let the memory of them relax his tensed muscles and start to untangle the nervousness that is building in his core.

It helps a little bit. It doesn’t completely eradicate the unease, but it gives him something to hold on to, an anchor to keep him grounded. It’s enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outfit Yuuri is wearing is referenced from this: [LINK](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/private/159798846156/tumblr_ooq3m0gifB1uax6og)
> 
> There is now art for this chapter from two lovely lovely artists who I am ever so grateful for! 
> 
> 1\. http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/post/161148904306/i-tried-drawing-yuuri-from-the-third-chapter-of  
> 2\. https://twitter.com/krystalhoshi/status/870104321773281280
> 
> Thank you for reading, feel free to come join me on my [tumblr](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/pensvsswords)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go on a date. Viktor tries to impress Yuuri and fails, but also succeeds at the same time.

Yuuri is sitting in a mall food court, hands folded in front of him on the table, thinking about all the possible ways that this could go wrong.

The worst case scenarios he comes up with are along the lines of _he could be a murderer_ or _he’s only interested because he thinks I’m going to fuck him on the first date._

On the other hand, the best case scenario Yuuri comes up with is that it’s a little awkward because now they’re meeting in real life, not under the shifting, colourful lights of the club, and Viktor will be friendly as always but will realize that Yuuri is nothing special and he’ll never see him again.

Either way, Yuuri wants to get it over with.

Not for the first time, Yuuri wonders how bad of an idea this is. At worst, it could be catastrophically bad. At best, the most he could probably hope for is _slightly better_ than catastrophically bad.  

Yuuri knows better than anyone that you just _don’t_ meet people like Viktor in his line of work. If more of his usual patrons were more like Viktor, he’d like his job a lot more than he does. That’s why up until now he has always very strictly followed the “No Dating Customers” rule, unlike a few of his coworkers who were less concerned than Yuuri. Something about Viktor though—something about Viktor just makes him do out of character things; like staying late after his shift in the hopes that a familiar head of silver would appear in their spot, or giving extra dances even though he’s definitely not supposed to and he’s already gotten a disapproving talk from Celestino about it. 

Chances are that Viktor will arrive, see Yuuri under unflattering mall food court lighting instead of the lights of Grand Prixxx, wearing comfortable jeans and a wool sweater instead of stilettos, fishnets, and glitter, and the illusion will finally be broken. Viktor will realize that Yuuri isn’t anything special without the shroud of nightclub atmosphere around him.

Yuuri hates himself for it, but he’s fairly certain that when that inevitably happens, he’s going to be utterly heartbroken.

Regardless, he wants to get it out of the way. That was part of the reason he’d aptly chosen to meet at a _here_ before Viktor took him on whatever date he had planned. The mall food court was probably the least romantic place in the world—harsh lighting, surrounded by parents attempting to feed their fussy children, the smell of deep fried Americanized international cuisines mingling together in a greasy haze.

Hopefully it will be enough to break the already fragile illusion that he and Viktor are under.

“Katsu!”

The familiar voice startles Yuuri, even though he’d been expecting it.  He draws in a long, deep breath before slowly raising his head.  

Viktor is walking towards him with one hand raised in a wave, a delighted grin stretched across his face. Yuuri is surprised for a moment to see him out of his usual dress pants and jacket—today he’s wearing an outfit similar to Yuuri’s, just jeans and a sweater under his coat, a bright red scarf wrapped around his neck. He looks casual, but his clothes still look very _deliberately_ casual. Yuuri assumes that they’re just as expensive as the suit he often wears.

A part of Yuuri is dismayed to see that Viktor’s smile is just as bright and open here under the mall food court lighting as it always is in the club. It has the exact same effect on Yuuri; his heart jumps in his chest and his cheeks feel suspiciously warm. Damn it.

“Hi,” Yuuri says, standing up when Viktor reaches him. His voice comes out a little too loud and he grimaces at the sound of his frantic greeting. Thankfully, Viktor doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s very subtle, but Yuuri doesn’t miss it when Viktor looks like he’s about to rush in and pull Yuuri into a hug (Yuuri has never experienced one before, but he’s thought about it and decided that Viktor definitely gives the biggest, warmest hugs), but aborts the movement and hovers in front of Yuuri. An awkward moment of silence passes between them and Viktor’s smile falters. For that brief moment, Yuuri thinks it must be a trick of the lighting, but Viktor looks almost uncharacteristically _shy_.

It hardly lasts long enough for Yuuri to blink. Viktor’s smile reaches full brilliance once again and he bounces a little on his toes. He’s wearing sneakers. For some reason, Yuuri really likes that.

“Katsu!” Viktor exclaims again. Yuuri doesn’t understand it, but Viktor always manages to say his name like it’s the most delightful thing in the entire world. “You look so cute! I’ve never seen you in normal clothes before.”

“I uh.” Yuuri wants to hide his face, but he resists. “Thank you,” he mumbles quietly. “You look nice too.”

Viktor _does_ look nice. Leave it to him to make casual everyday clothing look like they belong on a runway. He really is unfairly attractive.

As if he wasn’t already aware of how good he looks, Viktor absolutely beams at the compliment.

Then, because he’s Viktor, he winks. “Ah, thank you Katsu. We make quite a pretty pair, don’t we?”

Yuuri opens his mouth and finds he doesn’t have a response for that.

Viktor laughs. “Are you ready to go?”

When Yuuri nods, Viktor crooks one arm out towards him. Yuuri stares at it for a long moment before realizing what Viktor is asking for.

“Oh,” he says, then steps forward and rests his hand on the crook of Viktor’s elbow. That is… not what he had been expecting.

Viktor is still smiling at him brightly.

“Come on, come on,” he says, tugging Yuuri along a bit. “I have a date to take you on!”

Yuuri allows himself to be lead away, glad that for the moment, Viktor isn’t looking at him. He can only imagine the expression that’s on his face would give too much away.

***

Of all the places that Viktor could’ve taken him, he wasn’t expected to find himself being lead through the city streets only to end up entering the queue for the local outdoor skating rink.

“Viktor, what?” Yuuri asks. His hand is still tucked in the crook of Viktor’s arm, and his fingers flex unthinkingly over Viktor’s jacket.

“You told me you missed skating,” Viktor explains. He turns to look at Yuuri with all the openness and excitement of a child showing off a new toy to their favourite person. “You said that you and your sister used to go together…” A worried little frown appears between Viktor’s brows as he trails off. “If you don’t like it, that’s okay! We can do something else. Anything else. Anything you want.”

Yuuri shakes his head quickly, waving away Viktor’s concern. “No, I—“ He reaches out and pats Viktor’s arm instead of saying how kind and thoughtful of a first date this is, or how he’s surprised that Viktor even remembers Yuuri telling him that particular fond memory of home. He doesn’t feel capable of saying either of those things. “It’s a wonderful idea, Viktor. Thank you.”

He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, and even though it definitely wasn’t this, his surprise is endlessly pleased.

Viktor’s smile is back instantly. Yuuri realizes he’d missed it for the brief moment it’d dropped off of Viktor’s face.  

The wait in line to get skates is long, but it doesn’t feel like it because Viktor spends the entire time chatting in his ear like he has been since they met up. Yuuri listens, offering comments now and then, nodding along as Viktor talks. He likes listening to Viktor talk.

The skates they rent are not the greatest he’s ever put on his feet. They’re soft and pliable from being worn so many times by so many different people, and the blades aren’t as sharp as Yuuri would like them to be, but they’ll do just fine. The familiar motion of tying laces feels good in his hands.

Viktor finishes tying his laces a few moments before Yuuri and leaps to his feet. He wobbles a little and reaches out to grab Yuuri’s shoulder for support.

“Woah,” he giggles (actually _giggles_ , and Viktor is going to have to stop doing stuff like that immediately if he wants Yuuri to maintain any level of sanity) as he steadies himself. “It’s been a while,” he explains, grinning down at Yuuri.

Yuuri nods, unable to help the amusement that he feels at the corners of his mouth. He finishes tying his own skates, then stretches his feet out in front of him. A little rush of excitement pulses inside of him. He has _really_ missed this.

Finally, he stands, wobbles for a millisecond before finding his balance on the thin blades. Viktor smiles at him.

“Do you know how to skate?” Yuuri asks curiously as they make their way to the edge of the rink.

“Of course,” Viktor answers enthusiastically. “I haven’t been for years, though,” he says, an almost wistful quality in his voice. “It will be nice to skate again.”

“Mm, that’s too bad,” Yuuri murmurs.

Viktor’s face tilts over to look at him inquisitively. “Oh? Why’s that?”

At Viktor’s question, Yuuri feels a blush bloom over his cheeks. He hadn’t intended to say that aloud; it had slipped out of his mouth without him noticing. He keeps doing that around Viktor, he’s noticing. Viktor makes it difficult to keep his thoughts to himself, for some reason or another. Yuuri figures he ought to blame how open Viktor is himself. It must be contagious.

“I-It’s just, uh—“ Yuuri cuts himself off and looks away. “I could’ve taught you how.”

Yuuri doesn’t have to be looking at Viktor to know that a radiant smile breaks across his face. His blush deepens.

“Ah, Katsu!” Viktor exclaims. He bumps his shoulder against Yuuri’s teasingly. “You wanted to lead me around and laugh at me when I fell on my ass?”

“N-No!” Yuuri answers. It’s a complete lie. He thinks about holding Viktor’s hand and leading him around the rink, Viktor stumbling along behind him with all the grace of a newborn fawn, and the thought does something strange to his stomach. Something flutters around in there for a moment before he pushes it down firmly. “I wouldn’t laugh, I just—oh, hush. Let’s just go skate.”

Viktor grins as Yuuri waddles away, concentrating very hard on staying upright and balanced. He’s sure he looks a bit silly trying to quickly scurry along whilst balancing on the blades of his skates, but it’s better than Viktor seeing him blush.

Of course, because Viktor seems to do everything effortlessly, when he glides onto the ice before Yuuri, instead of with the clumsiness of a fumbling, newborn foal it’s with the effortless, ethereal grace of a dear leaping through a meadow. He does it slowly, like he’s aware of his muscles needing a moment to catch up and re-familiarize themselves with the motions of skating. The moment passes though, and quickly he is moving across the ice with ease.

Yuuri is almost exasperated for a moment. How can this man be so attractive in absolutely everything he does?

“Ah, this is wonderful,” Viktor says, sounding utterly pleased. He doesn’t even notice that a kid almost collides with him from behind as he stands there waiting for Yuuri. “Come on, come on Katsu! Come skate with me.”

Unable to resist, Yuuri follows. It feels good—he’s always liked slick smoothness of ice beneath his blades, and it only takes a short moment of concentration for him to find the familiar motion beneath his feet.

Ahead of him, Viktor is skating backwards, beaming at him as Yuuri follows along. “You skate beautifully, Katsu!”

“Ah, thank you,” Yuuri answers, so quietly that Viktor probably doesn’t hear him. He’s getting a little frustrated; every time Viktor compliments him, or says something thoughtful or teasing, he can feel himself blush. It’s getting out of hand. It’s _embarrassing_.

“Katsu, watch this!”

Yuuri watches, of course—as if he hasn’t been watching Viktor this entire time—as Viktor speeds off ahead of him, moving with a kind of practiced confidence that effortlessly keeps Yuuri transfixed.

He watches as Viktor skates a little way off, face creased in concentration, and unexpectedly launches himself into a practiced—albeit a little off balance after not skating for years—single loop. It’s shaky, but it’s the kind of thing that would’ve had to have been perfected over hours of doing it over and over until it was perfected. It’s far from perfect now, but Yuuri has the feeling that at one point in the past it had been. He feels the urge to clap and shout out something encouraging to Viktor.

But, this is a public skating rink. There are throngs of people skating around and around the peripheral of the rink, and none of them are expecting Viktor to suddenly vault into the air in the midst of the all the other skaters. Of course there are a few people who point, one person shouts out “nice jump!” to Viktor, but others are hardly paying attention to him. So, when teenager zips past, not noticing Viktor to the last moment, they get in the way of Viktor’s landing.

Yuuri is able to see the startled expression on Viktor’s face as the teenager bumps into him, shouts “watch it, dude!”, and causes Viktor to bump into the boards before toppling over, landing flat on his back.

It’s impressive, Yuuri thinks, that he manages to make it a full second before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my goodness,” Yuuri gasps between chortles as he skates over to Viktor. “Are you all right?”

“I knew you would laugh!” Viktor accuses. He’s still laying flat on his back in the middle the very public ice skating rink. What an idiot.

A delightful, beautiful idiot, Yuuri thinks idly as he reaches Viktor’s side. An uncontrollable snort escapes him. “You can’t blame me for that,” Yuuri protests. “You _fell_. Right on your ass.”  

“Yes, yes, I am aware of that,” Viktor answers, indignant and a little petulant. He gestures to himself. “I’m laying on the cold ice, Katsu!”

“I noticed,” Yuuri laughs. “Maybe you should get up?” He glances around. “People are staring, Viktor.”

“Let them stare,” Viktor mumbles, but he accepts the hand that Yuuri offers him willingly and hauls himself upright. The warmth of Viktor’s hand is a shock, and Yuuri only allows himself a brief moment to marvel over the softness of it before he hastily drops it, despite the fact that he desperately doesn’t want to.

He scolds himself internally. Just last night, some guy had slipped a twenty into Yuuri’s g-string while he shook his ass inches away from the man’s face. His profession requires him to be shamelessly provocative. He shouldn’t be getting this flustered over _holding Viktor’s hand to help him up._

Yuuri knows, though, that it doesn’t really matter. His persona when he performs as Eros isn’t exactly _him_. It’s a persona he can slip in an out of like a well-worn jacket. Katsu doesn’t get flustered by this stuff, but Yuuri does.

And he would be foolish not to admit that the more time he spends with Viktor, the less he feels like Katsu, and the more he feels like Yuuri.

To distract himself Yuuri helps him by gently brushing the snow-like ice shavings that are currently dusted across his back.

“I didn’t even see that kid coming,” Viktor says now, his voice forlorn.  

“I don’t think they saw you coming either,” Yuuri points out. He brushes his hand over the length of Viktor’s shoulder as Viktor peers at him.

“But _you_ saw it, right?”

Viktor’s expression is hopeful, his eyes wide and bright as he waits for Yuuri’s answer. The way he’s looking at Yuuri makes him feel like his response might actually really _matter_ to Viktor right now.

With a start, Yuuri realizes that there’s a possibility Viktor might have done it in the first place to impress Yuuri. It’s an impossible thought, but it settles in Yuuri’s mind and hovers there with vague uncertainty.

“Yes,” Yuuri answers honestly, averting his eyes. “It was very impressive, Viktor.”

Viktor absolutely glows with delight. Yuuri keeps his eyes focused on Viktor’s back. The dark fabric of Viktor’s jacket is safe to look at. Viktor’s beaming face is not.

After Yuuri has managed to stop giggling and Viktor’s jacket is mostly snow-free, they start to skate side by side, Viktor still silently pouting a little.

Well, that’s what Yuuri thinks is keeping Viktor at least. But then he realizes that his thoughts might be focused on something else when, in his peripheral vision, Yuuri sees Viktor reach out tentatively, as though he’s about to grab Yuuri’s hand. Realizing the possibility of it, Yuuri’s heart quickens in anticipation. They’ve been together for hours now, and this entire time they’ve only touched each other sparingly. The thought of finally getting to indulge in the sensation of skin on skin—even in the most innocent of ways—is more than desirable to Yuuri.

Unfortunately, Viktor’s advance only makes it halfway between their bodies before he hesitates, moves his hand back and tucks it into his jacket pocket. He stares straight ahead, his shoulders tensing into a rigid line, his cheeks stained the faintest pink.

It’s such a shy, hesitant gesture and it surprises Yuuri. Not for the first time this afternoon, Yuuri is thrown off by the fact that he might not be the only one who is nervous about this date. Viktor, confident and outgoing as he is, seems to be ever so slightly unsure of himself, faltering over the smallest interactions.

For some reason, knowing this gives Yuuri a little shot of certainty. Emboldened by the fact that he’s not alone in being worried about this date, Yuuri steels himself and reaches over for Viktor’s hand, the one that is still in his pocket. Yuuri’s heart pangs when his fingertips brush the back of Viktor’s hand, and he pauses, waiting for Viktor to reciprocate.

Viktor turns widened eyes to Yuuri. He blinks, then seems to realize what Yuuri is doing and his face breaks out into a pleased grin. His hand turns slightly in his pocket, granting Yuuri entrance. Relieved, Yuuri slides his fingers down the length of Viktor’s palm and twines their fingers together.

Yuuri returns Viktor’s smile shyly, pleased that he managed to get a positive reaction. Viktor relaxes visibly; his shoulders fall slightly, he exhales a heavy breath, as if he’d been holding it and hadn’t realized. Viktor squeezes his hand where it rests alongside his own in the warmth of his jacket.

“Seems like I need your help to keep me upright after all, hm?” Viktor says.

“Yes,” Yuuri responds. Boldly, he squeezes Viktor’s hand back. “It seems like I do.”

***

To Yuuri’s surprise (and delight) they spend the rest of the afternoon hand in hand. That initial decision to clasp Viktor’s hand in his own seems to have been enough to give permission for Viktor to reach out and tangled their hands together as often as possible.

Against his better judgement, Yuuri allows it when Viktor asks if he can walk Yuuri back to his neighborhood. They walk hand in hand the entire way.

“This is the best date I’ve ever been on,” Viktor says as they walk, his voice painfully earnest. Yuuri is all too aware that his hand probably feels clammy, and he desperately hopes that Viktor hasn’t noticed. Yuuri’s heart starts thudding rapidly at the feeling of slender, soft fingers curled around his own.

“I…” Yuuri shakes his head. The tips of his ears feel warm. “Are you supposed to say that on a first date?”

Viktor shrugs. The smile he gives Yuuri is soft and genuine. “Maybe not,” he admits, sounding wholly unconcerned despite the admission. “But if it is, then I don’t like that rule.”

“Why’s that?” Yuuri hopes his voice doesn’t sound as choked as it feels, and that Viktor can’t feel the stickiness of his palms.

Viktor tilts his head slightly towards Yuuri, a small smile playing around his mouth. “Well,” he says, “it doesn’t feel right to not tell you how much I like spending time with you.”

A nervous laugh bubbles out of Yuuri. It’s more confused than amused. Viktor is lovely, but Yuuri just _doesn’t get it._ How is he on this date with this beautiful, seemingly earnest man right now? This just doesn’t happen to people like him.

And yet, it is.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very forward?” Yuuri asks.

“All the time,” Viktor laughs. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Yuuri says quickly. “It doesn’t at all.”

If he were more brave, he would have told Viktor just how much he likes it. He likes how blunt and forward Viktor is with his feelings. He wishes he were more like that.

Instead of saying that, he squeezes Viktor’s hand. That’s enough, he thinks.

The smile he gets in response is worth it.

When they reach a street a few blocks away from Yuuri’s building, Yuuri stops and tells Viktor that this is far enough. He’s not exactly worried that Viktor is a serial killer at this point, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious still. He’s taking a risk here as it is.

Viktor doesn’t protest, thankfully. He hugs Yuuri goodbye slowly, like he’s waiting for Yuuri to decide if it’s okay, like there’s a possibility that Yuuri might decide that it’s _not_ okay and pull away. Yuuri appreciates the gesture, but he’s wanted to throw himself into Viktor’s arms so many times tonight that he’s completely lost count. He doesn’t tense when Viktor wraps his arms around his shoulders, and he only hesitates for a moment before he lifts his arms to hug Viktor back. He slides his arms around Viktor in return and allows himself to close his eyes and tuck his head into the crook of Viktor’s neck. It’s comfortable, and the surprised but pleased hum Yuuri gets in return washes over him with a soft warmth.

Yuuri doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s the fact that Viktor has made him feel comfortable and warm inside all afternoon, or how perfectly his hand fits into Viktor’s, or the fact that Viktor seems to have absolutely no expectations of him.

Regardless of whatever it is that makes him do it, when Yuuri pulls back from the hug, he finds himself placing both hands on Viktor’s shoulders and leaning in. With his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, Yuuri presses a brief kiss to Viktor’s cheek.

When he steps back, Viktor’s eyes are wide and his pale cheeks are flushed the prettiest pale pink. Yuuri feels a rush of satisfaction at that.

“My name is Yuuri,” he says.

He turns on his heel then, not lingering long enough to fully experience Viktor’s reaction before darting away and taking off down the street, hands jammed in his pocked and face tipped down, cheeks stained with a delicate blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're not professional skaters in this fic, I just thought this would be a cute first date! They both took figure skating lessons as kids, maybe competed at a low level, but were never able to focus on it enough to get into it professionally (figure skating is an intense and expensive sport haha). 
> 
> I'm not super happy with this chapter so I'm sorry if it falls flat. I've been struggling with it for WEEKS so I just want it up. I also wanted to post it before I went to bed, so sorry if there are any mistakes, I edited it pretty tired haha. 
> 
> Also, I promise that this DOES GET SPICY. Gosh, I suck at stripper AUs eh? This is supposed to be sexy, Mar. Damn it.
> 
> Also THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS. This is officially the longest fic I've written in over 2 years (just passed the benchmark with this chapter ahhh) and your lovely comments have been so encouraging as I write. Thank you so so much and I'm sorry I'm so slow at answering comments I promise I will answer them all properly!


	5. UPDATE!!! SORRY!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT A NEW CHAPTER I'M SORRY!

HI so this obviously isn't a new chapter, I'm sorry!!!! I'm just posting this to update the fic because I've rewritten huge chunks of the fic, mostly chapters 1 and 2, and added a scene into chapter 3. I wasn't happy with how I wrote their interactions, since I started this fic almost a year ago (yikes) and I was still forming my interpretation of Viktor and Yuuri back then. I think I'm FINALLY happy with it... I might go through chapter 4 again, but at this point any tweaks I made will be tiny and not worth mentioning. But yeah, I'm letting you know because their interactions are VERY different now, and I've added some info that contributes to a plot I'm sneaking in. If you want to continue reading it, I highly recommend that you re-read to catch all the new stuff! 

Sorry for the false update, but I'm back to writing this officially and I wanted to get the ball rolling! ^ ^

P.S., Old version is archived [right here](https://web.archive.org/web/20180107202741/http://archiveofourown.org/works/9649523?view_full_work=true)!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try my best to update this fic every two-three weeks, but I'm not exactly known for my reliability so don't hold me to that.
> 
> As this is a WIP, it is subject to slight changes here and there even after the chapters have been updated. If anything notable is changed (added/deleted sections, stuff important to the plot, etc) I'll let you know in the notes of that chapter! I'll try to keep that at a minimum--mostly it's just me going back and editing/rephrasing stuff because I'm never satisfied haha. 
> 
> A humongous shoutout to [@deerna](http://deerna.tumblr.com/) who is amazing and has been a massive help to me while writing this and probably deserves like 90% of the credit. 
> 
> If you're still reading, I hope you enjoyed it and thank you! <3 
> 
> Come visit me on [my tumblr](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/) or [my twitter](http://twitter.com/pensvsswords)!


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